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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292981">Clemency</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity'>stateofintegrity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, mention of suicide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:20:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the call of the darkness is very strong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clemency</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>At the express wish of the 4077th’s leader, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, army psychiatrist Sidney Freedman had come to the base in order to assess the morale of the overworked staff and to bandage such mental wounds as he could. Privately, Freedman wished every unit was under Potter’s command; it would lessen the number of PTSD cases and suicides that would occur after the conflict if personnel were treated in the field and made to understand that psychiatrists were not the enemy. Sometimes the incredible strength of the individuals with whom he worked was their greatest enemy. Some part of them felt that they could preserve that strength by never crying out or seeking aid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Major Charles Emerson Winchester III was just such a pillar of white and shining strength and was, therefore, the last person Sidney expected to welcome to his temporary home and office, the VIP tent. Winchester came under pretense, of course; greater than even his strength or surgical skill was the man’s pride. And so proud a creature, Sidney knew, would have balked at the menial task of carrying blankets to the VIP tent, but he permitted the ruse. How the wounded got to him wasn’t important; what mattered was that they arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More surprising, even, than Winchester’s presence was the way the words poured from him. “There is no justice here,” he began without preamble. “There is no mercy. There is no reason to do right or live properly.” His eyes blazed like train lights deep in a collapsing tunnel. “But we get up and behave as if our kindness is being banked, as if our sacrifices will be rewarded, our pain paid for in health. It’s a lie.” He quieted for a moment, then finished what he had come to say, “But if we turn our back on that lie then we will go into the dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sidney knew to the red marrow centers of his bones exactly what Winchester meant. Still, serving back a question was a psychiatrist’s best weapon. “Go into the dark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take our leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The aristocratic expression suited him perfectly; despair did not. “Suicide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. You’re a medical man yourself. You know how easy it would be. It might even prove fascinating: feeling those mighty gears grind to a halt, naming each process until words and thoughts fail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ve resisted the dark’s call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sigh shook him like November’s wind in October’s branches, saying: </span>
  <em>
    <span>all lost, all lost. Your bright colors will soon be burnt out and forgotten. You’ll rot under cold rain, be etched with frost that brings only a cold, dead glitter to your husk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You’ll think I’m mad as any guest at the tea party Alice stumbled into,” Charles said at last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Off the record, Major. I’m not working for the army at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With the fees you sort charge, a moment is likely all I can afford.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deflection doesn’t suit you. Come on, Major. The dark called to you. It’s voice was loud. Tell me what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles looked away into the dark that had learned his name, that still beckoned, promised peace. “I took a vial from the medicine cabinet. I’m a doctor, so no one questioned. I rolled it in my fingers until the contents inside grew warm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What stopped you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s silly and strange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But strong enough,” Sidney prodded, “to keep you here, where you are so sorely needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing. Nothing anyone would notice. A touch on the arm. Gentle. The way you might touch a scared animal to convince it you meant no harm. I knew before then... some part of me knew from the first, but I hid it away from myself. It might have stayed hidden for the whole war. Forever. But he touched me and said, ‘That’s not the way, Charles.’ He plucked the vial from my fingers and carried it away... and I watched him go... and it seemed like hours. I am still watching. I rest my eyes on him and the dark abates a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sidney felt his heart convulse. “He isn’t the first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. But I never gave in with the others. I never told them - or anyone! - never touched them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words reminded him of a child protesting his innocence: I didn’t break the vase, mommy! Honest! and the psychiatrist wondered who had known this secret before him and how they had wielded it. In his mental notes (the kind not subject to government oversight) he wrote: punished for perceived deviance at some point. Overbearing father? Abused? Then he turned his attention back. “This time you’re afraid you will give in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want my permission? My condemnation?” He made both words neutral, wanting to see what Charles thought he deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want direction. I am at a crossroads. If I believe that there is nothing noble in me, no goodness left, no reasons... nothing deserving of love...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The dark will return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. But if I do this, I betray everything. My family. My home. The army.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sidney was not a religious man, but he turned to God for a moment and asked to be blessed as a healer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord, let me say the right things to this man who is nothing but broken porcelain inside. Let me fit the pieces back in place. If I lack the talent for that, then at least stop me from doing any further damage. Amen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then he spoke again, feeling very much like a man navigating a floor glittering with broken glass. “Major, I’m sure you’ve seen your share of noble corpses. Heroes laid out with medals, faces looking like they should be engraved in stone. Is that what you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. It would not be nobler to deny your true self and expire from living a lie. As for the rest... Forgive me, Major, but Boston society is not here. If they were, they would probably rail against all of the injustices and bring an end to the whole thing.” This won him a small smile at least. “Any debt you owed your family honor has already been paid. When called to serve, you answered. You do the 4077th proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really must be off the clock. It has always been my understanding that the army took a far dimmer view of these things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, they do. Don’t plan any nuptials in the mess tent or anything- at least not if any big brass is traveling through. But my views are different. And the army doesn’t pay me enough to hurt anyone under my care. Ask him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And expose us both to ridicule?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might find the 4077 a more supportive place than you imagine. Potter has allowed a great many things that aren’t regulation, after all. Pierce and Hunnicutt with their casual look,” (bathrobes, Hawaiian shirts, and civilian pants), “Radar’s teddy bear. He has a horse, for heaven’s sake! Potter knows people don’t paint their souls over with camouflage when they don khaki. He won’t ask it of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if he says no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sidney knew that this ‘he’ wasn’t Potter. “A single touch has carried you pretty far. Try to be his friend if nothing else is on offer. It just might be enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the advice of the psychiatrist he’d shocked himself by relying on, Winchester confessed his newfound feelings to Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger. Klinger listened, dark eyes wide, but at the end, he shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger held the taller man’s shoulders, gently turned him. “I can’t. I’m not.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” Klinger held him, let him cry. He couldn’t remember a time he’d felt so helpless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How did this happen</span>
  </em>
  <span>? he wondered. And them, remembering the shine of that vial in Charles’ usually so-steady hands, he shivered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How do I keep him from going back to that place</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Charles quieted and decided to take Sidney’s advice. “Max,” he said after asking the man’s pardon again, “I know this was a poor beginning, but do you think we could be friends at least?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never seen anyone who needed one more. “Major, we already are. That won’t change. Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some promises were easier, Klinger learned, to speak than to keep. As the months went on, he found himself relying more and more on Winchester, forging a true friendship. They often spent their evenings together. Klinger sewed and Charles read and if this domestic portrait seemed strange to anyone else, they kept it to themselves. For his part, Winchester kept the image of Klinger between himself and the dark and the dark stayed back. He knew it was there, but he didn’t feel compelled to walk around its edges or dare its grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a winter evening, Klinger surprised him by disrupting their usual idyll when he said, “Major, I don’t want to bust up our friendship, but there’s something I need to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me anything,” the Bostonian assured him. “For crying out loud, Maxwell, I kissed you! And without even a by your leave, too!” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Talk about a set up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thought Klinger. “That’s uh, kinda what I wanted to talk to you about, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated how still Charles became and could read in that gesture how he had excoriated himself for his folly. “Go on,” he said at last and Klinger knew what it cost him to keep his voice level; he was back in full Winchester armor: dignified, icy, alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He sees. He knows that even if I never kissed him again, I have never stopped wanting to. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, Major,” Charles gave him a pained look and he corrected himself immediately. “Charles, I wasn’t completely honest with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see, lots of guys have taken a shot at me... and not just over here. I thought you were just... lonely, looking for something to grab onto.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought my feelings to be insincere?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes - but not on purpose. I mean, I didn’t think you realized. I was just... an easy escape. The guy in a dress.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have felt the same no matter what your costume.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I get that now. The thing is... the thing is I think I’m falling for you. And I know you should probably tell me to go to hell, but I had to risk it. So, is there any chance, Charles, you’d let me kiss you back like I should’ve done the first time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt to breathe for a moment. “No?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> back if you wish it, but you’d best get things started. I find myself much to overcome to lead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger knew many denizens rightly considered Charles Emerson Winchester III to be pompous; in that moment, he found him adorable. He stood before him a moment, taking in those impossible periwinkle eyes, his hopeful, earnest face. “By your leave, Major?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Charles broke into an uncharacteristic grin, Klinger leaned down and kissed the smile right off of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterward, Charles held onto the sleeping Corporal and said, “You are the single thing here that allows me to believe there is still good in the world. Good worth doing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger nuzzled against him, warm and real. Inside, a delicate ray of sunlight fell across the darkness Winchester had been carrying like a bridge and he knew, now, that he need not fear. It was as absurd as this conflict no one called a war, but the fine-boned, cross-dressing Corporal beside him was saving his life - and would continue to do so until July 27, 1953 … and after. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>End! </span>
</p><p>
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  <br/>
  <br/>
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